


The Price of My Blood

by Disincanto294



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:40:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 17,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26729818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disincanto294/pseuds/Disincanto294
Summary: The Wizarding World was no longer what it used to be.Several months ago Harry Potter fell. Voldemort triumphed.Hermione Granger has only one chance to become a free woman again.A dangerous chase in the middle of the woods and the encounter with the one man who, once again, will save her life.Hermione Granger/Severus Snape- This fanfiction was written for the Prompt Week being held by FB Group "The Severus Snape  &  Hermione Granger Shipping Fan Group".
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 128
Kudos: 188





	1. A deadly pursuit

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [The Price of My Blood](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/693826) by Disincanto294. 



> \- This fanfiction was written for the Prompt Week being held by FB Group "The Severus Snape & Hermione Granger Shipping Fan Group".
> 
> Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Universe belongs to J.K.Rowling.  
> None of the images in the story belong to me but they are owned by their respective creators. The image used for the cover belongs to PandaCapuccino (https://www.instagram.com/pandacapuccino/)  
> Warnings: M rated for strong content (violence, torture, sex)

This fanfiction was written for Prompt Week being held by FB Group "The Severus Snape & Hermione Granger Shipping Fan Group".

**Prompt 10. The Chase.**

**She hitched up her skirts and ran into the darkness between the trees, straining her ears to hear the telltale sounds of another body moving through the brush over the pounding of blood in her ears and the gasping of her ragged breaths.**

**§**

_Run, run, run._

  
Hermione repeated as a mantra in her head as she ran at a breakneck speed in the deepest darkness, striving to pinpoint the position of another body moving through the bushes. The accelerated heartbeat of her heart, the blood-filled pulse and her own labored breathing the only noises that filtered through the thick fog of her mind. All around her, the outlines of trees with long branches cast frightening shadows on the ground, and the owls’ cries troubled her, stirring emotions that had long remained silent.

  
_Run, run, run._

  
She'd been through it before. She had already dealt with that same situation once and it hadn’t gone well. She had already once been given the chance to escape and had not made it. She had no idea how many days had passed since then but definitely months. At the time she had still been quite strong and her body, being accustomed to fatigue, had held up for several kilometers. Still, she had been caught. Greyback. It was always him.

  
He was easily entertained, the werewolf. He took one of the girls who resided in the cells at Malfoy Manor, brought her into the woods and ordered her to escape. A real manhunt. If Voldemort had given him permission to kill them, they would have ended exactly like that, killed. However, their fate was much crueler. They were destined to suffer, treated like slaves, like _whores_. On the other hand, they were nothing more than the _Mudbloods_ , or blood traitors, and they deserved nothing else. In that dark-controlled world in which Lord Voldemort dictated the rules, there was no room for them. They were nothing.

  
_Run, run, run._

  
The undergrowth was thicker and thicker, the shadows becoming darker and darker. The trees seemed to tighten around her taking her breath away. She dared not turn around for fear of slowing down and had no idea how far she had gone. She couldn't stop, she just couldn't. Suddenly a loud thunder broke out behind her and, shocked by the intense noise, almost did not stop her run. She had to run, just run without ever stopping. She only turned for a second, to check the situation behind her, and when her gaze returned to the path before her, her body slammed against a lean but strong mass cloaked in black. She didn’t even have the time to raise her eyes and register the identity of that presence that he had grabbed her and, after making a quick turn on himself, smaterialized. Darkness.

  
_Severus Snape?_


	2. This is no life

She couldn't take her eyes off him. She couldn't take her eyes off that magnetic and immensely deep gaze that chained hers. Captured, one more time. Trapped under the careful and indecipherable expression of a man who had belittled and tormented her for years, the same man on whom she had always placed her trust and whom, at the reckoning, she had had to call a traitor.

Since she had been captured, she'd seen him two times, maybe three. She wasn't sure anymore. But she was certain that she had seen him that night, when it was all over, destroyed. Harry Potter was dead. Voldemort had triumphed. Many had died, just as many had been enslaved. Hermione belonged to the last of the two groups. The brightest witch of her age was worth less than a domestic elf. However, she was appreciated for the softness of her thighs, the warmth of her mouth and her femininity. She had lost count of all the times she had been beaten, and raped. The treatment of Harry Potter's best friend was the symbol of that new magical world, the rules of which were dictated by a powerful, serpentine-looking monster. Hermione Granger, because of her blood and her friendship with Harry Potter, deserved special treatment. Every one of the Death Eaters wanted to beat the _Moodblood,_ to sink into her and reduce her to death.

Of the fair and brilliant Princess of Gryffindor had remained but a faint shadow marked by purple bruises. Hermione was tired.

Severus Snape had been there that night. She wasn't sure what had happened the other times she had been in his presence. What she was sure of, however, was that there was much more to Severus Snape’s story. The flimsy thought that her former Professor was on their side, on her side, had made its way through the fog of her mind more than once. It was undeniable that he had hurled the Killing Curse against Dumbledore, but there were several things which weren’t right. She had thought about it for a long time, then she had stopped. The little strength she had to use in order to stay alive. Not that it mattered much anymore. All was lost.

Two strong hands continued to clasp her biceps, anchoring her to the ground. The rocky terrain was steep, the wind was blowing frighteningly, and she had lost so much weight that, if she let go she would probably fly away. The scent of the ocean was pungent, and Hermione found herself almost unconsciously squinting and inhaling deeply. She hadn't smelled the scent of the sea in months. Everything she had smelled for so long were the stench of her cell, of blood and fluids.

She knew that in a few minutes she would find herself again in the darkness of her rotten prison and would not miss that opportunity for anything in the world. Letting go, not shaking, had become a luxury for her.

Not even when the widard’s hands left her body, did Hermione open her eyes. The wind, the sea, the soft grass under her bare feet were balm for her destroyed body, for her mind which was intoxicated by pain. Those feelings were too pleasant. She could have stayed there forever. What kind of life was she living? She had never even thought of it, too stubborn to give up, but if the desire of a lifetime had become the sound of the wind and the scent of the sea, was it really worth living it?

Hermione slowly opened her eyes and those of her Professor were still there, as intense as ever.

"You can choose, Miss Granger." Said the wizard in a solemn voice, his hair and heavy black robes pushed to the side by the wind. "Life, or death. One chance."

"What life?" she asked, her voice a thin, almost inaudible breath above the sound of the wind.

"Does it matter?"

"Actually, no." She murmured tiredly, her head dangling to one side and her gaze lost. "Nothing matters anymore."

"Is that so?"

"That's not life..." she said and openly looked at him. "This is." She finished saying and then opened her arms and pointed out at what was around her. The wind, the sky, the sea, the earth.

"It's true." He nodded distractedly. "Make your choice, Miss Granger."

"Why should I come with you?"

"Because anything is better than _that_ life, even what a bastard like me has to offer you."

"Should I trust you," she asked incredulously, moving a tuft of dirty hair that had fallen on her face. "After you killed Dumbledore?"

"Your choice."

"I have already chosen."

And it was true. Why keep living? Why keep running and chasing an impossible freedom? She'd be back in that cell, sooner or later. Her choice was made.

Hermione Granger, the skeleton and shadow of the brilliant young witch she had once been, opened her arms and, without ever looking away from those deep black pools, slowly dropped her body backwards. An angel in a scrawny semi-transparent nightgown. Off the cliff. The wind, the sea. The abyss, the darkness.

The end.


	3. Hesitant touches

She had never experienced anything like that. She felt the lashes of cold air cut her skin off and the heavy drops of water wet the tips of her dirty hair. It was a strange, different feeling. And she loved it. She wasn't afraid, and that was kind of strange. However, perhaps she simply was not afraid of anything anymore. Besides, she had already lost everything. She was left with only herself, albeit in a thousand tiny pieces. They were driving the flat surface of the ocean at high speed, and she had hated flying from day one, and now even that she didn’t have anymore. Not even her greatest fears. Who knows what her Boggart would look like now.

Severus Snape, the most unthinkable of the knights, held her tightly as he flew far to a destination unknown to her. She had really done it, she had jumped. It had probably been the wisest decision of those last few months, but he hadn't let her die serenely. Of course, he hadn't. He had saved her again. He had jumped a few seconds after her and had grabbed her with such a force but at the same time with an almost disarming kindness. It had been months since she had been touched like that. She didn't even remember the feeling, now used to the wild beatings and intense curses. She had never even thought that man was capable of such kindness. Clearly, she was wrong.

The journey lasted for long minutes and, when Hermione had become accustomed to the beauty of those feelings of pure freedom, the landscape began to change. Nature made room for the modernity of a town, and then another. She noticed that their destination was near when the wizard's speed began to decrease, until he finally stopped on the porch of an old suburban house. The acrid smell of the dirty water of a river in the distance stinged her nostrils.

Snape removed the wards and, after walking through the door into he house, invited her in with a hand gesture. The living room was small and rather old-fashioned, with a stone fireplace in the central wall and two antique armchairs in front of it. The walls were covered floor-to-ceiling with books and this surprised Hermione, her mouth open in an ecstatic expression. In her cell, reading was not allowed.

"Where are we?" she asked astonished, looking around.

"In my house." Snape responded dryly and headed to a part of the bookshelf that, at a slight touch of his hand, moved revealing a staircase which led upstairs. "Follow me."

He showed her the rest of the small house, eventually ordering her to slip into the tub. She had made herself small to those words, almost unconsciously thinking of the worst, but the wizard had handed her clean laundry and a towel and had vanished after closing the door behind himself. She stood for several minutes in front of the white porcelain tank, unsure of what to do. She hadn't had a real shower since before her departure for the Horcruxes hunt. _A lifetime ago._

The desire to clean herself of the accumulated dirt won against everything, even against the distrust she still had in the man who had saved her life just before. He had given her a warm bath, clean clothes and nutritious food, all of which she had long since stopped wanting. She couldn't afford to think about good things. Around her now there was only destruction, pain and death. Nothing else. Yet, there she was, sitting on a bed with soft sheets with a plate of pasta, soft bread and fruit in front of her. Water, she also had water.

Severus Snape had left her alone again, in the company of good food and useless thoughts. All they did was confuse her. When he returned a short time later, several vials in his hands, and asked her in a whisper to lift her clothes and allow him to see the extent of the damage on her body and cure her, Hermione hesitated for more than a moment. She was trembling, she was always trembling. Too many times she had had to undress in front of men who wanted nothing more than the pleasure of her body. Most of those time, however, her clothes had simply been banished or ripped off with brutal force. But there was something different this time. Hermione had never heard his voice so calm and his eyes... his eyes were as reserved and deep as ever, but they lacked the manic light that characterized the irises of those who had brutalized her.

A few words were uttered, and for this Hermione was grateful. She could barely control the tremors that were stabbing her limbs. Kind hands skimmed her quivering skin, carefully massaging the medicinal paste on bruises and abrasions. There were so many of them. When the long fingers reached her neck, they paused for a moment. Hermione knew why. There were rope marks on her neck, tight enough to burn and cut off her skin. They dated back to a few days before, Yaxley's work. The touch there became even gentler, if such a thing could even be possible. Despite everything though, she couldn't relax. A little voice in her mind kept whispering words she wished she couldn’t hear. As his large hands fell to carefully spread her legs, the tone of the little voice increased to become almost unbearable. The witch could not take her eyes off the wizard's face as the almost uncontrollable tremor continued. And with it the voice.

She knew that voice, she knew what it meant. _Nobody does something in exchange of nothing..._

The man treated her with infinite care even down there, his gaze always detached but never cold and was taken totally off guard when Hermione forcefully grabbed one of his hands and placed it with his palm against the center of her chest, his fingers grazing a nipple. She pulled it to herself with the little force left in her body, their faces a few inches away. Eyes chained in a firm grip.

"Nobody does something in exchange of nothing, Professor." Hermione said in a whisper, repeating what the little voice in her head had reminded her of just before. She tentatively moved the hand she held tightly between hers and led it to stroke slowly her breasts. An unexpected groan ran off her lips, causing the release of the chain that had kept their eyes imprisoned. Snape pulled back immediately, as if he had burned himself. His eyes were hard, and they stayed like that for several seconds as he watched the half-naked young woman sitting on his bed, then they changed and the witch quickly realized the softness and warmth that was in those irises.

"You're wrong, Granger." He answered her in a calm voice. "Not me."

Soon after, Hermione found herself alone in a room not at all familiar with and with a flood of thoughts on her head. She was wearing a worn out cloth, a soft bedspread and the feeling of warm and gentle hands on her extremely cold skin.

She managed to sleep that night, as she had not done in some time. It was a sleep devoid of dreams but full of a pleasant feeling that embraced her heart.

Perhaps then, the solution to her problems was not death.

It was a new life.


	4. In his arms

She had woken up rather late the next morning. Her head was heavy but she felt rested. It had been over a year since she had last slept so well. First the Horcrux hunt with Harry and Ron, then the captivity... a lifetime seemed to have passed. Now, however, she was in a house, old but with all the comforts, and in the company of her Professor who, the day before, had made her feel again as though she was worth something. A woman, not a dirty _whore_ only able to open her legs. _The same thing I tried to do with him... and he refused me._

On the bedside table she had found a note in the unmistakable Handwriting of Snape. He told her about his absence and asked her to take a bath, eat the food he had left down in the kitchen and relax in the armchair in the company of a good book. He had left her books, more than one. Hermione had wept with raw emotion. Only once, just at the beginning of her stay at Malfoy Manor, had she been given the opportunity to read. It was a small essay on the characteristics of the perfect pureblood woman, the one she could never be. She had been able to read two pages, then Rabastan Lestrange had grown tired of waiting. He had grabbed her hair hard and pushed her to her knees in front of him. That day, to thank him, she had swallowed everything. The wizard had then patted her on the head and as a reward allowed her to read two more pages. It didn't happen again.

_Nobody does something in exchange of nothing._

For that reason, as a good and obedient girl as she was, she had taken a hot bath and ate and finally sat in an armchair with a short muggle novel on her lap that she had already read several years before. After a few sentences her head had begun to throb and her eyes to tear. Before, she would have devoured such a book. However, she had not given up and continued undaunted until she had managed to finish it.

Late in the evening the man had emersed from his workshop, whose entrance was also hidden behind one of the living room's bookcases, like the staircase leading to the upper floor. She was so shocked when she saw him. His heavy black robes were gone, leaving room for simple well-crafted black trousers and a white shirt with the first button open. His hair was greasy as usual but tied in a soft tail that left his face uncovered. She'd never seen him like that. He looked younger, freer and more manly. As soon as he saw her, he loosened his hair and they immediately fell back on his face, hiding it from her attentive gaze. Severus Snape was a man and she had noticed it only the night before.

"I hope you slept well." Said the Professor approaching her.

"Yes." Hermione answered while looking at him intently. "Thank you for everything." She then said, before kneeling in front of him and move her small hand to touch his trousers covered sex. When she looked up and met his deep eyes, she moved closer still and with her lips laid a kiss where she knew the tip of his member was. Snape looked startled and walked away as if burned.

"Granger!" he exclaimed in a hard voice. "No."

"Why?" she asked, troubled by the wizard's behaviour. She could not understand why he refused her, why he would not allow her to pay her debts and thank him for what he had given her. _Wasn't she pretty enough for him?_ _Wasn't she to his liking?_ The thought hurt her badly, more than she could have imagined. She knew she wasn't canonically beautiful, but none of the Death Eaters had ever rejected her.

"No," he began to say, then froze before answering. "If my intention was to take you to bed, I wouldn't have waited but I would have done it last night when I brought you into this house." Looking carefully into her face, he reached out his hand to her and urged her to grab it, and when she did, he helped her get back on her feet. "I didn't bring you here to provide for this kind of need."

"Then why am I here?"

"To help me defeat the Dark Lord once and for all."

At that moment, silence fell heavy on the room illuminated by a single light coming from a lamp near the armchair. Professor Snape's words swirled in the air and Hermione's head was spinning. She wasn't sure she had got it right. The man in front of her was a traitor, he had killed Dumbledore, lied to the Order for years and years. Wasn’t he? Perhaps her doubts about him, her hopes, had a foundation. At the end of the day, despite his abrupt ways, the man had always protected them and had done everything to get something into their heads. In Harry’s and Ron's at least...

She always tried not to think about them. She had buried their names at the back of her mind. It hurt very badly, and whenever the memories of their friendship came back to the surface that huge crack in her heart grew even bigger. She had seen her friend Harry die before her eyes. She still perfectly remembered the thud of his lifeless body when he had hit the ground. She had screamed a dull cry, audible only to herself, and she had wept silent tears. Saltier than that ocean she had touched the night before while flying. Soon after, she had seen Ron fall to his knees and her eyes had become so blurred because of the tears, that she had not even been able to catch the moment when life had deserted his eyes. All around her was chaos, inside her an apparent flat calm. She couldn't move. Only her limbs trembled uncontrollably.

The memories had taken hold of her again. The pain had affected her soul and the tears had begun to line her face. It hurt so much. When she was able to find her voice again, Snape was watching her with a look mixed between curious and tormented.

"You betrayed us." She strove to say in the sobs.

"Who tells you I did it?" he asked quietly as he walked close to her.

"You killed Dumbledore."

"There are so many things you Granger are not aware of."

"Tell me about them then." She said almost defiantly. Shee wanted to know the truth.

"All in due course."

"It is my right to know the truth!" she yelled; the despair clear in her voice. She was afraid of the whole situation. There were too many things she didn't know and that tormented her mind.

"And I will tell you, " He granted her, getting even closer to her. He could clearly see the witch's body shaking. "but for now just come here."

He wrapped her in his arms in a quick but unexpectedly gentle motion. Her chestnut head rested on his chest and an intense scent of musk and fresh burnt wood immediately hit her nostrils. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply his scent, drinking from that feeling of warmth that enveloped her senses. She didn’t realize immediately when the tears stopped and her tremors came to an end.

In those unexpectedly caring arms, Hermione felt safe and protected for the first time in such a long time. In those arms no one could have hurt her. No one.


	5. Breathe

Several days had passed since her arrival at Spinner's End. That was the name of that street corner where his Professor's little house was. Those had been quiet days, even pleasant, so different from those she had become accustomed to at Malfoy Manor. Professor Snape would spend most of his time away and when he was there, he stayed mostly on his own. From his lab often came vulgar words and curses against this or that long-dead wizard. He was the same with her as ever. Snide remarks and derisive snorts were constantly thrown in her direction, but not once had the wizard tried to raise his hands on her. Or to touch her lasciviously. She didn’t miss Malfoy, Yaxley, Lestrange and all the other Death Eaters at all.

On the other hand, the memory of his scent of musk and fresh burnt wood kept teasing her senses. However, that unexpected kindness with which he had cared for her, and embraced her by clutching her to himself, had warmed her heart whenever her mind went wandering through those ways.

In those days Hermione had rediscovered her greatest passion. She had borrowed several interesting tomes from the huge library. In the morning she would do the chores while in the evening it had happened more than once that she had fallen asleep curled up in the armchair of the living room with one of those books on her lap. The next morning, she had always found herself lying between the warm bedsheets.

She and Snape had talked. As promised, he had explained in part the events that had led to Dumbledore's death. If she had to believe what he had revealed to her, the wizard had always really been on their side. It seemed almost preposterous, yet inside her she knew that what she had been told was true. Severus Snape was not a traitor. He had also explained to her that her magic had been tied and she had a trace on. For this reason, the use of magic on her part was impossible, and if she did, the Death Eaters would sweep into the house in the blink of an eye. She missed magic. It was as if a part of herself was absent. She wanted to pick up her wand and wave it. Even a simple _Wingardium Leviosa_ would be enough to make her happy.

"You risk irritating it even more if you continue like this." Snape’s voice said behind her. She hadn’t even realized she had been lost in her thoughts or that she had started scratching. The bleeding letters of the word _Mudblood_ had been carved on her fair skin, one letter at a time, with a cursed dagger. It shone aggressively on her forearm, yet another symbol of what she was, of what she had experienced.

"I didn't notice..." Hermione muttered, immediately moving her hand away from the ugly wound.

"Come. I want to show you something."

Hermione was astonished when the wizard let her into his lab. It was not large but well organized, with two long tables in the middle of the room and all the carefully ordered equipment close to the walls. A large steaming cauldron was simmering on a fire while a smaller one rested on the other side. For a moment it seemed liked she had gone back in time, to when everything was simple. To the time when Harry and Ron were still with her and the tragedy of her life had not yet begun.

"What are you working on?" she asked, looking at the small cauldron.

"You tell me, Miss Granger." The tone of voice he had used was exactly the same she had heard so many times in his class, and for a moment the witch turned to observe him, a strange light in her eyes.

She carefully looked at the surface of the potion. It was dense and yellowish, numerous bubbles floating on the surface, no smoke but an intense acrid smell attacked her nostrils. She thought about it for a moment, undecided among more than one option before the most likely one turned on in her brain. The discovery made her suddenly gasp and a mask of terrible fright painted itself on her face. _Could it be...?_

"A poison?"

"Outstanding, Miss Granger." The man said pretending to do a round of applause with his hands. "Always the usual Know-it-All I see, in spite of everything." The mockery in his voice was palpable and he raised his eyebrow dangerously.

"It's not funny."

"I did not mean it to be."

"So? A poison? To take out You-Know-Who?"

It seemed almost absurd to her that a simple poison could defeat Voldemort. Not even Harry had been able to do it. Still, her Professor seemed confident.

"Not any poison, Granger," He smugly said as he approached her and turned the contents of the cauldron with a large tempered glass ladle. "But one devised by none other than the best Potions Master in England."

"Modest." Hermione answered with a smile, observing the little mischievous grin that had appeared on Snape’s lips.

"This poison was created by using three main elements." He suddenly explained earnestly. "One belonging to the Dark Lord himself, one to Harry Potter and one to you, Miss Granger."

"To me?"

Hers head swirled but she couldn’t think, she couldn’t understand. _What do I have to do with this?_

"Potter may not have succeeded in defeating him, but he has certainly greatly weakened the Dark Lord. For this reason, for months The Dark Lord has been forced to take a special invigorating potion. It is obviously controlled... the man is paranoid; he would never ingest anything without making sure that it could not hurt him."

"And in this potion there is a piece of me, isn’t it? And Harry’s too?"

"Do you remember what happened immediately after you arrived at Malfoy Manor?”

"Of course I remember! How could I forget that?" the young witch snapped, spreading her arms. In truth, however, she was not entirely sure about the events of that night. Everything was so confused and she must have lost consciousness at some point because later she had woken up in her cell, her body full of bruises and cuts. The pain had burnt her skin everywhere and for days she had had trouble moving. Of only one thing she swas totally sure. "I was raped." She murmured in a voice so thin and full of suffering that she could hardly hold back a sob.

She couldn’t remember anything about that moment. She had lost consciousness long before that happened, and she was grateful for that small mercy. The next morning, however, when she had awakened, she had found traces of what had happened. The dried blood and semen left no room for her imagination. At those words she saw Snape gasp slightly, then his serious, emotionless gaze lended again on her. Their eyes chained to each other, lost in a whirlwind of silent emotions.

"It was me."

His words broke the silence but at the same time created a new one, even heavier. Overwhelming. Her breath froze in her throat, a thick, heavy cloud. The bile rose sour from her intestines and her eyesight began to cloud over. She grabbed on fiercely to the long table when the dizziness shocked her head, when her vision clouded with tears and pain prevented her from realizing what was around her. She threw up all she had eaten that day along with gastric fluids all over the dark floor of the laboratory. She vomited her soul, and herself.

"How could you?" she murmured angrily as soon as she had recovered.

Her face was a mask of hate, tears and mucus. Brown eyes begged for mercy and at the same time could have killed on sight. _How could he?_

When her lean hand struck her Professor's pale cheek, the pain inside her did not cease. By doing this, she thought she would have hurt less, but that’s not what happened. The wizard's dark eyes became even darker, his face a mask of horror, and pain.

She saw his hand rise slowly and for a moment she feared that he would hit her. Seconds of sheer terror passed, but his hand never striked her. Instead it landed gently on hers which was still pressed against his hollowed cheek. The deep black pools that were the Professor's eyes half-closed and an unexpected calm suffused her heart.

 _Breathe._ She could hear whispering within herself. _Breathe._


	6. Blood and magic

She had run away. Like a coward, she had run away. Anger, embarrassment, and endless pain had struck her so hard that it had left her breathless. She could no longer look him in the eye, and she had run away. The dark man's words kept incessantly beating her mind. The warmth of his hand under hers a fierce reminder of how weak she had become. Not a real Gryffindor, but a _mudblood whore…_ But she needed that warmth, she needed to feel again like a woman and not like a beast only good for a kick. She had slapped him, then she had let herself go to the sensations. The man had had his eyes half-closed, an almost serene expression on his face, and when he had reopened them... That look, so deep and magnetic, unreadable in its complexity, had captured and held her tightly. Her weak body had immediately resumed shaking uncontrollably. She had run away embarrassed.

She had run into what she now considered her room and sat on the ground, huddled against the wall. So many times she had done that same little action in her cell. Every time she was beaten, every time she was used, she was raped. Every time she acted against herself. She had always huddled tightly in the darkest corner of her gray and dreary prison.

Her head kept throbbing painfully. He had raped her. It hadn’t been any Death-Eater, it had been him. His professor, the man who despite everything had always protected them. The same man in whom, despite everything, she had always placed her trust. The man that everyone considered a traitor and that in truth had never abandoned the Order. Severus Snape had raped her. For months and months, she had been convinced it had been Yaxley, while instead... Snape.

Suddenly the door opened, and the wizard entered the room with his black frock coat firmly buttoned up. He looked at her for a moment before going to sit on the ground on the other side of the room, his legs bent and elbows resting on his knees. He watched her for several minutes in silence while Hermione stared at an indefinite dot on the old floor.

"I am not proud of what I have done, Granger." Snape said after some time.

"You should suck.” She answered dryly, but in an almost inaudible whisper. She wanted to hate him, but for some perverse reason, she couldn't. There was something inside her that fought against that deep feeling.

"For doing what I thought was the right thing at the time?" he asked ironically, raising an eyebrow. "No, for that I don't suck. For committing a vile act against a schoolgirl, an innocent girl? Yes, enormously." He concluded and kept looking at her. "However, I would do it again."

Until then, Hermione had kept her head down, but at those last words she could only look up and meet his eyes. What she saw was the same man as always, yet so different. Always so dark, terrifying and unreachable. And yet, so helpful and accessible in that moment.

"I was a virgin." Hermione murmured; a veil of sadness tinted by anger in her voice.

"I know." He answered only, his gaze always fixed on her brown eyes. "That's why I did it."

"What!?" she exclaimed in disbelief, almost sitting on her heels.

"Haven't you grasped it yet? The three ingredients of the potion, Granger."

"My blood..."

"Exactly. Blood collected during defloration is a powerful but at the same time very rare ingredient, Granger. For centuries used for the darkest potions, its use nowadays is almost non-existent."

Her mind detached itself for a moment, Snape's voice almost echoing away in her ears as he unnecessarily explained the characteristics of the potion. Hundreds of thoughts swirled around her head almost uncontrollably. One above all seemed not to want to abandon her. It disturbed her deeply. Without even realizing it, she crawled towards her Professor, her movements fast and impatient. As soon as she stood before him, her lean body between the wizard's knees, she seized his jacket with such a force, moving closer. She was trembling but her gaze was full of anger and pain.

"You didn't even think about me for a second, did you?" she asked full of resentment. "That maybe I didn't want all of this? What you did... it will tie us up forever."

Hermione had read at length on the subject. She had devoured books in order to prepare for the moment when she and Ron would have finally been able to live their love. The loss of virginity had important consequences. It would bound the witch to the wizard and their bond was indissoluble. No matter how many wizards the witch later decided to date, the magic of the first wizard would always remain tied to her own.

"Is this what you are afraid of?" the Professor asked sarcastically. "Don't be. I survived once; I don't think I am lucky enough to survive a second time. When all of this is over, you will be free." He assured her by laying his big warm hands on her smallest. "You will be completely free, and you will be able to proudly say that you have honored, thanks to your sacrifice, the memory of your dear friends."

"They would not have agreed with your method."

"I have no doubts." He answered with a sneer that immediately turned into a serious expression. "You have always trusted Albus Dumbledore and look where you ended up... where we ended up. Albus got it wrong, now I will do things my way."

That resolute and so confident look caught her. He was right, of course. Harry and Ron were dead, and this was their chance to kill that monster once and for all. It wouldn't be easy, she knew it. She would still suffer, but that little sacrifice was nothing compared to what so many others had lost.

"I am with you."

She almost fell on that solid body that unsettled her with its inconsistencies. At last she braked, carefully laying her chestnut head against Snape’s chest. She felt him stiffen for a moment before he too relaxed. Her pale cheek against the small buttons of his black frock coat, the controlled heartbeat of his heart. His deep breath, the warmth of his body around hers so fragile.

She wasn't afraid.


	7. All my fault

She was aware that the Death Eaters were looking for her, but she hadn’t thought much about it until, almost one month after her arrival at Spinner's End, she was awakened in the middle of the night. A sound of heavy and irregular footsteps rumbled on the stairs near the door of her room. Objects fell to the ground and grunts rang out around the house. Her heart was pounding, and her breath was ragged. Her mind swirled furiously as memories and sensations of that night in the forest struck her suddenly and with extreme force. The strain, the hoots of owls, the breath of the cold wind on her bare skin, the sound of footsteps, the dark shadows of the branches...

She knew that getting out of bed and approaching the door wasn't the smartest thing to do. Every Muggle novel she had devoured over the years had always discouraged such an action. But Hermione was a Gryffindor, and what's more there was something that pushed her to that door. She opened the door just fraction and immediately realize what was going on. She couldn’t breathe.

A mass of heavy black robes moved in the semi-darkness of the hall. It staggered, as if it were drunk. At least that’s what Hermione would have thought if it weren't for the fact that Severus Snape was panting in pain, hunched over himself. He was struggling, his hand shaking on the banister to control his steps. The other held in a firm grip a precious, intricately carved silver mask. Part of it was covered in blood.

"Professor!" Hermione shouted, running immediately to his side. To help him stand, she placed a hand on his back and, when she pulled it back, she immediately realized that his clothes were soggy. Blood, there was blood everywhere.

"Granger." Snape rasped weakly. "Room."

When the man lifted his head and Hermione was finally able to see his face, a deep gasp escaped from her lips. A mask of blood looked tiredly back at her as a grimace of pain contracted its features. She'd never seen him like that. She had never even thought about what the man had to face daily in order to serve a Master such as Voldemort. Guilt began to envelop her heart, but she managed to keep it at bay. She had more important things to think about at that time. Her Professor was bleeding profusely, and she had to intervene quickly, lest he dies from blood loss.

"Let's go." She murmured, helping him take the last steps that separated them from the bedroom. She made him lie flat on the bed and watched him closely. The man was a right mess. "What happened?" she asked, and for a moment she received no answer. Only after several seconds did the wizard open his eyes, which he had closed in order to cope with the pain and the fatigue.

"Cruciatus," he murmured, breathing deeply. "and whipped."

In those months when she had lived hidden in the Forest of Dean with Harry and Ron, Hermione had several times had to care for herself and her friends. She was certainly not a mediwitch, but she had read enough books and had so many opportunities to practice that she knew what to do.

She sat next to him and with infinite care began the tortuous task of removing the heavy clothes from the man's body. It took time and several deep gasps from the man before his cloak and frock coat were removed. Underneath, a white shirt soaked in sweat at the front and blood at the back had attached itself to the wizard's skin. There was so much blood everywhere. The acrid smell hit her nostrils, almost chocking her. With trembling hands, she slowly unbuttoned his shirt. Her worried gaze never left his face, careful about any sign of further discomfort from the man. But Snape's eyes remained firmly closed, while heavy breaths came out of his slightly parted lips. _Who would have thought!_ Beneath those heavy black robes was a lean body, all too skinny but still strong, with alabaster skin. A splash of fine black hair adorned his chest while another drew a thin trail that disappeared under the waistband of his trousers. She watched him captivated for a few seconds before shaking her curly head and getting back to work.

She took several potions from the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, including a bottle of Essence of Dittany, a Blood-Replenishing and Pain-Relief Potions, bandages and clean towels with a basin full of water. Snape’s back was a map of bleeding lacerations, and for the umpteenth time the witch wondered how he could be so silent. He certainly complained, but no desperate cry left the man's mouth. As he carefully patted the many wounds on his back, she wondered absent-mindedly where he had learned to suffer in silence.

In that moment, the expression on his face seemed a little more relaxed, if not by much. That deep wrinkle ever-present between his eyebrows. She administered all the necessary potions, helping him swallow the ones that were to be ingested, and wrapped almost the entire upper part of his body in sterile bandages. His blood-soaked face showed two deep cuts, one on his cheek and one from his forehead cutting his eyebrow into two parts. She also healed those wounds, being even kinder when she went to dab with a towel his blood-soaked skin and the hair that had attached themselves to his forehead.

She had worked in silence, lost in her thoughts. It was her fault that the wizard had been beaten up like that. In order to keep her hidden, protected and safe, he had been tortured. His pale skin ripped open forever. Hermione had done what she could, but the scars would remain, an indelible reminder of her faults. She should do something. She should turn herself in to Voldemort and end that torture, but she didn't have the courage. The months spent locked up at Malfoy Manor had been hell. If she were to go back, she'd be dead. Or worse, crazy. The Death Eaters had hurt her more deeply than she could imagine, and like Snape, she too would carry those scars on her for ever.

She made the man settle in the warm sheets and tucked the blankets under his chin. She had placed him on his side, so that the wounds wouldn’t hurt him too much. He fell asleep almost immediately. He was a wreck. Hermione laid down beside him, careful to keep some space between them, and watched him sleep for a long while. Without even realizing it, her hand reached out to him; a strand of black hair had fallen back on his face. She carefully moved it behind his ear, and her lean fingers lingered on his hollowed cheek, the same one she had slapped some time before. Her touch was lighter than a feather and a subtle shiver pierced her back, leaving her shaken.

She had tried to hate him, but she couldn't. Her feelings towards that unsufferable man an impossible vortex to stop and discern in their complexity.

"Good night, Professor." She murmured in the silent darkness of the room.

Only a slice of the moon lit up their tired faces as the young witch's breath became heavier and sleep took hold of her.


	8. A beautiful rose

A warm, light brush of air on her face tickled her skin. It wasn’t at all unpleasant but, combined with the cold air of the room, it made her shudder. She clung even more tightly to the blankets, and to the warm body that held her securely to itself. The slight scent of musk and burnt wood teased her senses and prompted her to curl even more around that solid body. One large hand rested on her much smaller while the fingers of the other, their touch soft like a feather, drew thin drawings on her arm. She couldn't comprehend what was happening, but everything at that moment seemed perfect to her. She could have been holed up in the fortress that were those arms forever. Slowly the eyelids rose. In the haze created by sleep, the attentive and gentle-looking face that her eyes met made her smile.

Within seconds, however, everything became clearer and the reality of things hit her in the chest. She sat up immediately, moving away from Snape. During the night she must have come closer to him. _Jesus Christ! It's embarrassing!_ After passing a hand through her hair and fixing them to the best of her ability, she turned to her Professor. The wizard had an amused grin painted on his lips and his dark eyes sparked as they looked at her. Her rebellious hair had to be a mess and with her eyes swollen from sleep, Hermione was well aware of it, she certainly wasn't a good sight. He, on the other hand, seemed smug and totally relaxed.

"P - Professor!" Hermione greeted embarrassed as she turned to him. "How do you feel?"

"Definitely better." He answered and sit against the headboard of the bed with slow and cautious movements.

"Was it You-Know-Who?" she asked curiously but already knowing the answer. At his nod, she continued. "Why?"

"You've been missing for almost a month, and no progress has been made in your research." He explained, then got up and padded silently to the bathroom. When the wizard returned to the room, he sat next to her at the foot of the bed, then resumed talking. "The Dark Lord has instructed some of us to bring you home, and no one has been successful yet."

It was all her fault. As she had imagined, Snape had been punished for her disappearance. Guilt once again flooded her heart. The tremors melted her body, and she caught her breath. It was all her fault.

"Did he break you up because you didn't complete the task he assigned you?" the witch asked after taking a deep breath and somehow calming her troubled soul.

"Does it surprise you?" he said wryly raising an eyebrow. "We are talking about the Dark Lord. And by the way, it's nothing I am not used to.”

When Hermione saw Snape begin to untie the bandage she had made the night before, she jumped to her feet ready to help him.

"Let me see."

"There's no need, I can do it myself." He answered without raising his eyes from what he was doing.

"I said to let me see." The witch said with a warning note in her voice as she laid her little hands on the larger ones of her Professor. She wanted to do something for him, to repay him for what he was doing for her. Anything.

Professor Snape briefly looked at their hands, then lifted his head to look at her, his gaze unreadable. A moment later he loosened his grip on the bandages and without saying anything he bared himself. After the bandage was removed, the girl sat down again on the bed, kneeling behind him. The Essence of Dittany had done its job and the wounds had closed. Long and angry silver scars covered the man's back drawing an intricate map. Holding her breath and torturing her lower lip with her teeth, Hermione caressed one of the scars. Snape didn’t gasp but shuddered almost imperceptibly. The other hand reached the first in its slow exploration. A feeling of infinite sadness pervaded her whole body and without even realizing it she had gently placed her forehead against the back of the man's neck and began to cry silently. _It's all my fault._

"I'm sorry." She whispered full of emotion, and at those words the man turned his head to the side in order to look at her.

"We get the life we deserve."

"Do you think you deserved all of this?"

"Don’t I?"

Not even a month earlier her thoughts towards him had been completely different. She had hated him for raping her and had angryly yelled at him. She had slapped him. At that moment, however, she was no longer sure of anything. What she saw, however, was a man other than the hateful Potions Master that everyone knew. She liked what she saw, but what she saw made her ache.

"Perhaps not." She answered in a hurry before getting up and walking away from him. She didn't want him to see her crying and she needed to be alone. The confusion in her head too deep, the one in her heart even worse. She didn’t go long that one hand grabbed her arm gently.

"Granger..."

Snape seemed for a moment unsure about what to do, but then let her go. He looked at her attentively for a moment, but Hermione did not dare look up. In front of her eyes the wizard’s hand appeared again and then suddenly a small spiral of air that turned into a beautiful white rose with darker shades of pink. She stared at it in surprise before looking up at the man. With kind hands, Snape moved a lock of hair behind her ear and laid the small, elegant flower right there among her curls. A powerful magical energy struck her, causing her to gasp and a faint sincere smile painted the wizard’s lips.


	9. Her shelter, her warmth

She couldn't stop looking at the little flower Snape had given her. It was white but each petal in the outer part carried dark pink shades. It was very elegant and at the same time delicate. And it was for her. He had created it for her using his magic. No one had ever given her such a beautiful and caring gift. Nobody. She knew that rose was nothing more than his way of thanking her for caring for him, and yet... and yet Hermione was confused. The man confused her so much that it gave her a headache. In those days she had seen him very little. However, that little time he had spent in the house, he had passed it with her. She had noticed his gaze on her more than once, but in those moments the wizard had never uttered a word. She herself could not stop observing him when she had the opportunity.

It had been more than two hours since she had gone to the living room and it was now night. She had sat on the little blue carpet that stood between the sofa and the fireplace. In the morning, she had found the fireplace lit and so she had taken advantage of it ans spent her free moments warming up in front of the fire. It kept her company, helped her think with a more lucid mind, and at the same time warmed her from the ice that would suddenly hit her. There were memories that still gave her the chills. She would fight against them every day, but there were times when they were simply stronger.

"You're still awake.” Snape said while leaning against the door jams and bringing her back from her thoughts.

"I was," she began, pointing to the rose in her hands. " – thinking. How do you feel today? Are you still in pain?"

"I'm fine, Granger." He answered before going to the library. He opened a hidden cabinet and pulled out two finely carved tumblers and a bottle of Whiskey. He poured two fingers each and then approached her and handed her the glass. She hesitated for a moment before grabbing it. She had never been a drinker and the last sip she had had had been more than two years earlier.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make the scars on your face disappear altogether."

"It doesn't matter, it won't be the first nor the last." 

"I've seen that you have many... You-Know-Who made all of them, didn’t he?" she asked curiously, taking a sip. It immediately burned her throat, but the aftereffect was pleasant.

"You Granger, ask too many questions.” He answered and watched her closely. He didn't say anything else for some time, and Hermione was sure the wizard wouldn't answer. "No, they are not all from the Dark Lord… Some are the result of skittles with my fellow Death Eaters, others I got during my school years... others are punishments inflicted on me by my father."

Hermione gasped at those words, and pain clenched her chest. Harry had told her that their Professor didn’t have a happy childhood, but she could never have imagined that he had been abused in that way.

"Your father?” She asked sadly. They remained silent for a few minutes, only the sound of burning wood and their breaths audible in the room before Hermione interrupted him again. "At least none is visible. I mean, they're all hidden under your heavy robes."

"Are you sure, Granger? " he asked her, his face covered in the dim light by a curtain of black hair. Suddenly he turned softly and what the girl saw made her go pale. "Look harder.”

A thick web of intricate silver scars, which had before been carefully concealed by a spell, had suddenly appeared on his face. It formed a thick cord that ran through his right cheek until it reached the corner of his mouth. Unconsciously Hermione reached out to touch his battered cheek. From her seat on the floor, however, she did not get there. Her invisible touch, however, must have reached him because the wizard closed his eyes slowly, an expression of sadness and at the same serenity on his lips.

"How did it happen"

"I was only fourteen years old; my father was very drunk. I unconsciously cast a spell and he became a fury. Few times I've seen him like that. He smashed the bottle of wine he had been holding and went against me." 

"But it’s horrible!" Hermione was incredulous and outraged. _What did he do to you?..._

"My father wasn’t a good person.”

"You know, I've got a bad one too, besides the one on my arm. This one too has never fully healed and with the cold it pinches, but Madame Pomfrey has always advised me to leave it free, not to hide it." She admitted by lowering her eyes suddenly embarrassed. "No one has ever seen it..."

She breathed deeply several times before returning to look at him. Her heart was in her throat and her mind was full of memories and emotions. She remembered perfectly what had happened. She remembered the hatred in Dolohov's eyes, the contempt that had twisted his face the moment before he cast his curse. She remembered everything, even the following days spent in the infirmary as well as the immense embarrassment and inadequacy of being a sixteen-year-old girl with a disfigured body. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, getting attacked by emotions. She opened them almost immediately though, a sad smile on her lips. She wasn't afraid, not with him. She moved slightly off the sofa and with trembling hands lifted the edge of the sweater before lifting it completely and laying it on the ground next to her. The heat of the chimney flames beat insistently against her bare skin. She was wearing only a light yellowish nightgown. The red scar that cut her chest in two was already visible, but Hermione decided to lower one of the straps as well. The fabric fell down, almost revealing the small nipple disfigured by black magic. Snape had not moved his eyes from her figure even a moment, his look even darker than usual peered at her, captivated. The light of the flames and the dimness of the night were mirrored on her body giving her almost a mystical aura.

"The Department of Mysteries... " the wizard whispered without looking away.

"What?"

"Did you really believe that Poppy had enough knowledge about dark magic to be able to create such a powerful counter-course and in such a short time?"

"You...?"

"Obviously. I would have liked to be able to do more, but as you well know scars from dark magic are very difficult to treat."

"Thank you..." she answered softly; She picked up the sweater she had removed before but she didn’t wear it, preferring to hold it in her arms as if it were a soft stuffed animal. "It was tough at first. I've never been very self-confident. I've always been too studious, too annoying, not skinny enough and with breasts too small. My hair has always been a mess and my teeth... you will definitely remember my teeth." She said, looking surly at him for a moment and remembering the cruel remark the man had made about them. "That scarjust finished me off. What guy could have looked at someone like me?"

She didn't even realize she had started crying. She was shaking, as she did every time she was troubled or in pain. She had felt nothingness for far too long, and like that she kept feeling. She was nothing more than a _Mudblood whore_ in that world. And if they couldn't get rid of Voldemort, that would be her role for the rest of her life. _I'm just a Mudblood whore._

Kind arms clasped her slowly, luring her to a warm and protected shelter. In those arms, no one could ever hurt her. This was Severus Snape for her: shelter, protection, warmth. She didn't want to leave. She didn't want to go back to the Death Eaters. She wanted to stay there, where his heart was beating.

"Never doubt yourself, Hermione. Neither your intelligence, nor your beauty; much less your value."


	10. The missing piece

In those arms she felt protected. In those arms she could stop shaking and finally be able to breathe. There in that warm shelter the weather didn't hit her. There the heart beat louder as the mind relaxed. In the embrace of a man who had long frightened her, and in whom she had never imagined she could be herself, Hermione had found the place of the heart, the peace of the senses. Among the fragrances of musk and burnt wood she had found the freedom to be, simply. Continuing to hold him tight to herself, Hermione removed her face from Snape’s chest.

"I have always believed that you hated me." She breathed looking him straight in the eye.

"Why would you think something like that?" He asked genuinely curious.

"Tell me." Hermione said resolutely. "You always treated me as if I was worth less than zero; you mocked me so many times that I lost count..."

"Hermione," he began, calling her by her name for the first time; the witch's mouth opened in surprise at hearing her name uttered by the wizard. "I am a Death Eater." He told her emphatically, keeping her slightly away from him. "For years you and your friends have made my life more difficult than it already was, always doing other people's business and trying to save the world. However, that doesn't mean I didn't recognize your talent. You're a brilliant witch, you always have been, and I'm not blind. You're however a Muggleborn witch, and Harry Potter's best friend; how was I supposed to treat you?"

Hermione watched him closely, considering his words. It was true, of course. She had thought about it so many times, she had hoped that was the explanation, but it always brought her back to the fact that the man was a bastard. And he hated her. _Why is he treating me like this now? It's so different from the Potions Professor I have always known._

"Since you've brought me here, you’ve been different. Why?"

"I am a Death Eater, but I am also this Hermione; a simple man." He sighed tiredly. "My house is the only place where I can be a little more myself. In the best days I am an insensitive bastard, I am aware of it." He sneered briefly before returning serious. "But I am also able to listen to you and give you what you need. I haven't been given the chance to be who I am for several years, and you... you give me some respite."

His words were suspended for several seconds in the silence of the room. They weighed like heavy boulders and tasted like a newly revealed secret. Hermione could not entirely understand what the man felt, but the sincerity and vulnerability in his gaze made her think. Severus Snape was telling her the truth; she was sure of it. And for the first time she knew that the one in front of her was not the cruel Potions Master nor the terrible Death Eater at the service of Voldemort. No, in front of her was just Severus. A man. A man who, for the umpteenth time, was risking his life for her.

"I'm glad to know that I’m somehow paying you back for everything you have done for me."

"You don't have to," he began, but the witch stopped him by placing her hand on his cheek.

"When I was taken to Malfoy Manor I knew I wouldn't come out of it alive. And yet, every time the Death Eaters hurt me, I always hoped someone would pick me up and take me out of there... away from them." She confessed to him stroking his pale hollowed cheek. "What you did... you have no idea what that means to me. I've wanted to die so many times in these months and then you've come..."

For the umpteenth time that evening she realized that tears were flowing free down her face. _I'm a mess!_ Long fingers covered her cheeks and a worried face, but with a hinted sad smile, watched her with dark eyes. He wiped away her tears with kindness as he continued to look at her. In that moment Hermione realized for the first time how much that wizard had got under her skin. She liked this Severus Snape. She liked to know that he felt so comfortable with her that he didn't feel the need to show the other side of himself, the one everyone knew. And feared.

She abandoned his deep black eyes only when her lips hesitantly brushed his. Their hot breath soaked in Whiskey joined in a very light kiss. Hermione trembled, and certainly not out of fear. Snape immediately stiffened at the contact but did not pull away. Hermione did it though when she realized she hadn’t received a response from the man. She was hurt. Yet another rejection. Not that she had expected much from him but... in a way she had hoped for it. She looked at him one last time before moving completely away. _Stupid! Stupid, stupid!_ At that moment, however, a large hand landed softly on her face, causing her to turn. His eyes briefly met those of the witch, an important question printed in their depth, before Snape moved her closer to him and kissed her.

It was a kiss full of hesitation and full of fear. It was a gentle touch of lips, a continuous letting go and reclaiming. Seeking the other. Only when their tongues caressed each other, did the shyness disappear, and with it the fear. That unconscious fear of rejection, of not being enough for the other, of being wrong. Everything at that moment disappeared. All that remained were the sensations and the emotions. The knowledge that they had found the missing piece of their heart.


	11. A gentle wave of love

The moment immediately after their languid kiss had been... Silent. Not embarrassing but silent, full of thoughts. Their lips had separated, and their eyes had met again. Worried, thoughtful. Then Hermione had made him a shy but sincere smile and all the tension had faded. She had snuggled up in his arms and at last almost fallen asleep. His heartbeat under her ear, the movement of his chest that expanded with every breath and the warmth in his arms, a perfect lullaby. The smile which had formed on her lips had never faded.

"You're sleeping..." Severus had told her after an hour of pleasant silence in which Hermione had dozed off blissfully.

"No, I'm awake." She had answered, suddenly worried. She didn't want to leave him, she didn't want to leave the protection of those arms. She wished that the genuine contentment that had taken hold of her would last forever. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so well. An eternity had passed. All she remembered was pain and hatred, for the Death Eaters and for herself. Severus had looked at her with his incredible black eyes and picked her up.

"I'll take you to bed." He had said simply, carefully climbing the stairs leading upstairs. Magically the quilt had moved to the side, allowing him to carefully lay her on the bed. He had put a kiss on her forehead before walking away but Hermione didn't want to let him go; no, she didn't want it to end.

"Stay." She had begged him by grabbing him by the shoulders. "Please, Severus."

At hearing his austere name on the young witch's lips the wizard had freezed imperceptibly and his eyes had widened. They had remained like that for a long second before he had given voice to his doubts. His eyes were sad, and at that look a pang of pain had moved her bowels.

"Are you sure?" At his question, Hermione had only nodded and the man with hesitation had walked to the other side of the bed. A wave of his wand and his everyday outfits changed into a comfortable dark blue pajama. Hermione did not hesitate for a moment; she approached him and snuggled up again in his arms. A heavy sigh escaped Severus' lips but immediately his body relaxed and welcomed her with mute joy.

The following days had not been tense but their displays of affection had been limited. Only in the evening, when Hermione would invite him to lie down next to her, was Severus able to completely relax his rigid composure. Apart from a few languid kisses, nothing sexual had happened on those nights.

That night, several days after their first kiss, Severus was thoughtful. She had noticed it immediately when the rhythm of his breath had begun to change almost imperceptibly.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked suddenly in the dark of the night. Only a thin slice of moon lazily lit up the room. Severus did not immediately respond, but when he did, Hermione had to think carefully about her answer.

"What do you expect from this?" he asked in a thin voice. "From me?"

"Nothing, I expect nothing." The witch answered after a few seconds of careful consideration. "I have feelings for you but I have no expectations. I have decided I want to live, and that's it; I don't even know if I'll be here tomorrow. I will take what the day gives me, every day." She told him, moving a little away from him so she could see his face; then she went on, a smile on her lips. "Perhaps this life still has something beautiful in store for me." She gently stroked his cheek before placing a kiss on his chin.

"Me?" he asked in disbelief. "Tsk."

"You have proved me to be. You're not like them, Severus.".

"Yet for months I have allowed them to abuse you."

"What could you have done? That's what you told me, Severus. You couldn't have done anything." She told him, clutching him in a gesture intended to comfort him. "You know, at first I couldn't remember anything about your visits when I was at Malfoy Manor. I recalled seeing you sometimes in front of my cell, but nothing else. Then thinking about it, something initially vague and then more and more clear came to mind." Hermione pulled herself up to lean against the headboard. "I didn't remember anything about your visits because you always came when I was recovering from some sort of violence. "

"I have brought you some potions and salves. You would never have been able to recover otherwise."

"I know." Hermione murmured; her gaze lost to the memories. In that moment Severus too sat up on the bed next to her, an arm resting protectively around her shoulders. "The worst moment was when Bellatrix carved my arm..." she said while touching the angry letters of the word _Mudblood_ on her skin. “She raped me with the handle of her dagger. I don't know how the hell she had transfigured it, but it hurt so much. She would move it inside of me and it burnt and cut me like it had teeth of its own... there was so much blood on the floor when she left. I couldn’t understand anything, I only felt the pain; and so much hatred towards her. I had really hoped to die that day, but I didn't... I had to suffer again and again for many more months."

At that moment, as the pain once again took hold of her and her gaze clouded, Hermione felt Severus' lips rest lightly on her forehead, on the tip of her nose, and on her cheeks. Finally, they descended upon her mouth and a deep, trembling breath was lost in the cold air of the room. What he was making her feel was totally different from anything she had ever caressed with her senses. So unexpected, so beautiful in its intimate simplicity. That kiss, initially so chaste, turned into something so intense Hermione felt dragged away, like a light autumn leaf carried by the wind.

"Hermione, if I could have done it, I would have saved you much sooner;" Severus whispered a breath away from her lips, catching her hazel eyes in his. "If I had known the impact you would have had on my life, I wouldn't have even needed to get you out of there. You would have been by my side from the beginning."

"You're not like them." Hermione answered in a sob before catapulting all her emotions towards him.

She felt free. To live, to love.


	12. Trembling Bodies

Her body was shaking, throbbing, singing. The desire was there, as she had never felt it. She had never experienced anything like it. Never. So different from what she had imagined. So intense, deep, upsetting. She was shaking. So sensitive to Severus’ warm touch. His hands, his lips. So kind, so determined, they drove her crazy. She was shaking. The taste of their wet mouths an irresistible fusion, the scent of their hot breaths a seductive attraction. She wanted him, only him.

"I want to kiss you again. " Severus muttered while taking her face in his hands and resting his forehead against Hermione's. His eyes were closed, his face tense.

"So do I."

"And I don't want to stop."

"Neither do I."

"And I am not sure I can stop." Only at these words he opened his eyes, and his deep gaze was laden with desire, and promise. Hermione trembled again.

"Don't do it then." _I want him, only him._

"Hermione..."

"Gift me with what I have lost, Severus…” The witch said with a sigh, her mouth at a breath of air away from the man. "I trust you... only you."

"Are you sure?"

"I know that if I were to ask you, you'd stop." She answered sure of herself before adding, "You are not like them." She assured him by repeating those words for the umpteenth time. She had told him that so many times, almost repeating it as a mantra. She didn't know if she wanted to convince him or herself. Or both. Maybe she just hoped for it. She hoped he was really different, that he wasn't using her. That he didn't want to break her into a thousand pieces like the other Death Eaters had done. Trust. She was giving him trust along with a second chance.

At those words Severus' eyes became even darker and deeper. His lips returned to caress Hermione's mouth before moving towards her cheek and then behind her ear, where that little spot of skin made her burn. She was shaking. She could feel his big hands touching her trembling body still covered in clothes. He calmed it down, reassured it, soothed its sorrows. She shuddered when Severus' fingers discovered the soft skin of her hips and belly, rising towards her breasts. With a determined movement he pulled up the sweater and slipped it out of her head, leaving her semi-naked under his watchful gaze. Hermione instinctively covered herself with her arms, embarrassed and aware of her blemishes. She had never been considered a beautiful girl and the war and the following imprisonment had disfigured her body making her all too thin and covered by scars. Her eyes were large and frightened, her cheeks tinged with pink. She expected Severus to run away, change his mind and pull back, but the wizard stayed there, just a few inches from her. He observed her with his usual magnetic gaze, his lips slightly apart.

"What are you afraid of, Hermione?” Severus asked and moved a strand of hair from her face and let his hand caress her cheek, slowly letting it slide down her chin and neck, until it reached her shoulder and her covered breasts. "I won't make fun of you like I did back then with your teeth. That time... that time has passed. You can trust me..." He said stroking her hands and slowly letting her grip on her breasts melt, finally exposing them to his eyes. "You are beautiful; you're perfect." He murmured with bright eyes as he touched the small bundle of nerves battered by Dark Magic. "Really, Hermione… don’t you see it?"

"No."

"I'll have to show you then." The smile he gave her a moment before his tongue went to tease her nipple was cunning and mischievous.

That open and genuine smile made him look even younger, more attractive. She had never looked at him from that point of view, always more mindful of his vast intelligence and knowledge and worried about that hatred the man seemed to feel for herself and her friends. And yet, behind those austere features and the thousand black buttons of his clothes, there was a man who wasn't that bad looking. A man to whom she had decided to give a second chance. And all of herself, for the first time. Hermione's body was on fire. With his tongue he lapped every inch of skin of her breasts and laid hot and damp kisses on them. That was a pleasant torture, one she loved. She desired him, as she had never wanted anything and anyone. She could feel it in the depths of her being. It moved inside her, pressing against every fiber and nerve in her body. She moaned pleasure when Severus' mouth closed first around one and then the other nipple.

Without even realizing it her little hands had wandered towards him. They explored, they searched. She desperately wanted to caress with her fingertips that diaphanous skin that was still covered. She wanted to touch its contours, imprint in her memory every small valley and every long river, feel its warmth. She impatiently clung to the black T-shirt he was wearing, trying to take it off. A hoarse laugh escaped from Severus’ lips who, with a _pop,_ let go of her nipple and helped her take his shirt off him. She had already seen that pale chest covered with a splash of fine black hair, its scars and imperfections, but she was fascinated by what she saw anyway. She extended a trembling hand to touch his skin and Severus shuddered, then closed his eyes, pleased from the sensations that that contact gave him.

He took the witch in his arms and squeezed her hard. Their bodies matched perfectly and, while Hermione's breasts kissed his chest, their mouths grazed with hesitation leaving their tongues playing undisturbed. It was a circus of sensations and emotions. Their bodies fire, their minds now melted ice.

"How is it that I want you so much?" Hermione thought, but when she felt Severus stiffen around her, she realized she had spoken out loud.

"Perhaps you will never find out;” The wizard murmured looking carefully at her before kissing her lips again. "But is it really important?"

"No."

They silenced each other, each lost in their own pleasure and in that desire so incomprehensible. Severus looked her in the eye for a long time before taking off her trousers and slips. Hermione was beautiful. Her light skin was soft, her young body inviting. He had never seen anything so beautiful and at that sight he fell short of breath. Hermione was lying before him, his long curly hair spread on the pillow. Almost invisible freckles colored her small nose and reddened cheeks while, with sparkling eyes, she nibbled anxiously at those lips he wished to devour. She was beautiful, with her legs closed to hide her femininity and her pert nipples rising at every breath. He descended slowly on her mound, crossing the softness of her bosom. He stroked her and kissed her, tormented her with his lips and tongue until any trace of anxiety or doubt dissolved between those sheets. He made her cry out in pleasure and drank her sweet excitement.

"You can still tell me to stop." Severus told her after slipping between her thighs and passionately kissing her. Hermione studied him carefully, noticed the kindness of his gaze and the absolute truth of his words in those eyes so deep you could get lost inside. But she could also feel his excitement pulsating against her femininity and that's what she wanted.

She appreciated his words, and even more the fact that he had given her a choice. That same choice he took away from her the night he took her virginity, blood and freedom. That opportunity to refuse, to be able to say no, that the Death Eaters had stolen from her for months allowing themself to sink into her without any worry. They had shattered her into a thousand tiny pieces, but that man was slowly picking them up one by one and putting them back together.

With a firm hand she grabbed his cock and guided him towards her. There was no need to talk. Her silence was sufficient answer. They groaned together when Severus gently entered her, and a stab of pleasure assaulted their bodies accompanying them to that coveted pleasure.

They had never felt that way because they had never been so close. So intimate. For a moment, the world disappeared and only the two of them existed, joined together. No doubt, no fear. Only warm breaths and sweat, and two beating hearts and two bodies shaking. And the awareness, once again, that they had found themselves. Despite the differences, despite the past and the pain.


	13. A promise

They had made love and it had been incredible. Shocking, surprising, incredibly wonderful. Scary. She hadn't felt so insecure and inadequate in years. The insecurity of finding herself in that situation with him, her old Professor who, in her mind a professor was no longer; he was only a man. The shyness born from being totally inexperienced in the field and at the same time not being it; she had had so many sexual intercourses with the Death Eaters in those months, yet with Severus it had been like the first time. In a way it was. She had never made love, that experience had been stolen from her. By the Death Eaters, by Severus himself. Did he make up for it? Absolutely. No one had ever treated her that way, with a kindness that, not even if you were dealing with the most precious and ancient of books, you had. They had made love. Love. She knew she wasn't in love with him. Not only did she barely know him, but also the relationship they had in the past, that between student and professor, had a considerable weight. And yet, in the most hidden corner of her mind, she knew that the idea of being with that man wasn’t so terrible. Nothing was impossible, not even falling in love with Severus Snape.

What had occurred to her, however, brooding once again about her situation, was that she had no idea why he had decided to save her. For her he had endangered himself and his cover, he had suffered the wrath of Voldemort and his punishment. For her. Why? Why did he save her that night in the forest? She wasn't convinced that the only reason was that he didn’t want to see her dead, as he had never cared about her. For this reason, one cold and rainy morning several days later, while scribbling on a piece of parchment, she had asked Severus the question that had plagued her mind.

"Why did you take me away from Malfoy Manor?" she had asked him while stroking the dark feather of her pen. "You didn't have to, so why?"

Severus had sighed heavily before closing the book he kept open on his lap. He had turned to her, his deep look devoid of emotions, and had made her a half smile; one of those cunning ones that completely changed his face.

"I thought you'd never ask me." He had answered her while getting up from the armchair and approaching the desk where she was sitting. He had made a chair appear and sat down, his eyes intent on her as he stroked his lips with his finger. "There are two reasons. The first one is that even if it is true that I am a cold bastard, I’m not the worst one. I didn't like seeing you in those conditions, knowing that your body was being abused and destroyed. As much as it may seem the other way around, I've never enjoyed seeing people suffer..." he had said before adding with a sneer. "Apart from a few, like that mongrel of Black, or his cousin Bella. However, the second reason is very different. I need you to do something for me."

At those words Hermione's heart had stuck painfully in her chest and an inexplicable anxiety had clouded her senses. Her body had begun to tremble once again.

"What?"

"Contact Minerva and help her get the Order of the Phoenix back on the move, or at least what little is left of it."

She had held her breath and her head had started spinning so fast that she had had to cling to her desk. Her knuckles were white from the force with which she had to hold herself. She had no longer thought of the Order of the Phoenix, nor of its members. She had avoided doing so. It hurt too much to think of them, of what it had been. She knew that many had been killed. She was still alive, in pieces but alive. Severus believed that the Order was still alive, though severely debilitated, and Minerva McGonagall continued to be the leader, in Dumbledore's absence. For obvious reasons he could not contact her, the woman would kill him on sight. With Hermione on his side though... For this reason, she had written the woman a very vague letter, asking her to meet in secret. They were not sure whether the woman would accept the invitation, but they hoped that her Gryffindor courage would lead her to act. She would immediately recognize her favourite student’s handwriting but, considering that her magic was still tied, she could not feel her magical signature staining the pages. Instead of hers, she would feel Severus’ darkest one and surely think that the young witch was in danger and would go and save her. That’s what they hoped at least. And so it was.

The meeting with her former Transfiguration Professor had been exciting, in every sense. The woman had asked her several questions to make sure she was actually who she said she was and not an imposter, and when she decided that the one in front of her was really Hermione Granger, she had hugged her. The severe Head of Gryffindor had never shown such affection toward her. As she had let herself be comforted by the older woman, Hermione had wept all the pain she had been carrying all that time. All that suffering that she had never had the courage nor the strength to let go. It had been difficult but incredibly liberating and had left her emotionally tired but with a new flame of energy growing inside her. On the other hand, convincing the witch of Severus Snape's good faith had been anything but easy. It took hours of careful explanations of facts of the present and the past, of furious shouts and bitter tears before she agreed to give him a second chance and meet him. Not that she fully trusted him, but she had decided to at least listen to what he had to say.

So, another meeting had been scheduled and the two former colleagues had met. Minerva McGonagall had hexed him, and Severus had let her do it, suffering in silence. Only later she had let him speak and listened carefully to the plan that according to the wizard would lead to Voldemort’s death.

"It went pretty well." Hermione told him once they landed in the living room after meeting with McGonagall.

"Yes." Severus confirmed and had a sit in his armchair. "I knew it wouldn't be easy, but we did it."

"Now what do we do?"

"Now we must get you back in shape."

"Me?"

"You have lost a lot of weight during your stay at Malfoy Manor and with it also physical and magical strength." He explained to her while carefully looking at her. "Since you've been here you've recovered some of your strength, but you'll need all of it when the time to fight comes. There are only a few of you left, while the group of Death Eaters has expanded considerably. I have prepared a training plan that you will have to follow and this will help you regain your energy."

"How long will it take?"

"A month."

"The time the potion needs in order to be ready."

"Exactly."

Hermione looked at him for a moment, tracing with her eyes the fine features of his tired face, then approached him and rested her curly head on his shoulder. She breathed slowly, closing her eyes and relishing the heat that enveloped her when Severus put an arm around her body.

"Are we going to make it this time?" she asked sadly, thinking back to her friends who had died in the battle and to the battle itself which had taken so much away from her.

"We're going to make it." The wizard assured clutching her tightly and laying his chin on her bushy hair. "It's a promise."

Hermione was perfectly aware that Severus Snape was the kind of man which made no promises if he wasn't sure he could keep them.


	14. The beginning of the end

That month had been challenging and intense. She had worked with all her might in order to achieve her goals and she had made it. It had seemed like going back in time to when she used to prepare her study and revision plans for herself and her friends. She had started eating better and training every day thanks to a plan prepared specifically for her by Severus. She had carried out most of the exercises together with him and at night, before going to bed, they would meditate and strengthen their minds. She felt much stronger and even her head, previously filled with negative thoughts, was now more stable.

They had worked hard together with Professor McGonagall to create a simple but effective plan to knock out as many Death Eaters as possible. Every day one or more of Voldemort’s servants disappeared without leaving any trace, suddenly attacked by an invisible enemy. The Dark Lord became increasingly nervous and volatile. That's what they had wanted but at the same time Hermione was really worried. Several times Severus had returned to Spinner's End deeply wounded, punished by his Lord for the most futile reasons, and Hermione had taken care of him. As he had done with her when he saved her from captivity. She had seen him bleeding and trembling due to the Cruciatus Curse that the wizard had had to endure and each time her heart had clenched at the sight. She really cared about him and in that month the love she felt had grown considerably.

They had spent whole nights in each other's arms making love, sending away the fear, vanquishing the pain. Together. They had spent whole nights giving each other pleasure and accepting it, screaming of intense and deep freedom, letting themselves go. Always together. Hermione had realized that she had nothing else in that life, other than her desire to get rid of Voldemort and to never get rid of Severus. She didn't want that freedom he had offered her anymore. She wanted him. His virtues and his flaws, his grumpy manners and his hidden kindness, the one he reserved only and exclusively for her. She wished to witness the dawn of that new Magical World together with him and be part of it with him.

She had kissed him with all the pride and sweetness she possessed when he, sweaty but proud of his work, had announced to her that he had finally finished the potion that would lead Voldemort to his death. That afternoon she had taken his hand and taken him to their room, stripped him of his clothes and made him burn with passion. That afternoon she had noticed flashes of sadness obscuring his deep eyes but had not given them any mind. She had taken care of him and tried to show him how much, in her own way, she loved him. Despite everything.

The night before the big day she had whispered a breath away from his lips that she loved him. That flash of deep sadness had appeared again, and that time Hermione had not been able to ignore it. She had known what it meant. Severus was not sure he would survive long enough to be able to witness with her the dawn she so longed for. The young witch had cried but asked him not to leave her.

"Don't leave me, Severus." She had pleaded, angrily wiping away the tears that had stained her cheeks. "Promise me. Please, promise me."

The wizard, who in such a short time had become everything to her, had not answered her pleas. He had sunk his deep dark eyes into hers and embraced her with a tender passion. Hermione had begun to tremble uncontrollably, as had happened so many times during captivity when fear and pain had stabbed her in the heart, and tears had started flowing free again. Shattered she was, once again.

Then the beginning of the end had begun, and everything had happened so quickly that by the end of the day the pain and headache had been equally immense in her. In the morning they had kissed for the last time, their eyes intense and their hearts beating so fast, and then they had separated. Minerva McGonagall had unleashed Hermione's magic and handed her a new wand. The first spell cast had been so powerful that it had destroyed more than they had expected. Severus had instead gone to Little Hangleton’s graveyard, where in the past Voldemort had regained a corporal body. Where Voldemort would die once and for all. The potion that the Potions Master had crafted had been poured into Riddle’s grave, still drenched with the Dark Magic used by Peter Pettigrew to bring him back to life, and then activated thanks to a powerful ancient dark spell.

The Death Eaters who had been branded had fallen to the ground and their cries of terror and pain had resonated throughout England. The dark magic in the mark had been released, the skull and snake had been eradicated from their arms leaving only angry fresh skin, and Lord Voldemort's soul had abandoned his body forever. The most powerful and evil wizard of the last century had died like any man, suddenly struck by a dark curse. He had not expected his end, but it had arrived. Black, irreversible. The servants of the Dark had been captured and only a few had managed to escape.

Hermione had survived. Severus had vanished into thin air.

Only his black robes covered in blood had been found on the ground of Little Hangleton Graveyard.


	15. A rose one rainy night

  


She had cried herself to sleep every single night after Voldemort's defeat. In her mind the memory of those impossible black eyes that had made her feel so many emotions that in the end she was breathless. In her heart the pain of what it had been, of what it might have been and never have. In her hands a rose with darker shades that never abandoned her and a small piece of burnt paper that recited a single word written in Severus Snape’s elegant handwriting.

She had immediately gone to Spinner's End as soon as she had found the wizard's blood-stained clothes, and what she had found had left her speechless. The only thing she felt was pain. It rumbled in her heart and ears like a hammer nailing her to the ground. Before her eyes there were only four walls eaten by fire and the biting smell of smoke and soot. She had had to sit on the ground so as not to risk fainting. Her breath was short, her hands sweaty, and her head dizzy. Then suddenly a strange noise and a puff of air coming from some burnt pieces that had belonged to the fence in the courtyard, and an unfolded piece of paper had sailed towards her and the world had collapsed on her. "Forgive me." He had written to her, like a farewell whispered to the wind. But Hermione didn't know if she'd ever be able to do it. He had abandoned her, left her alone in a world she did not know, of which she did not feel an integral part, and which frightened her. He hadn't stayed there to watch the dawn of that new Magical World with her.

She had waited for him for days on end, huddled in front of the window of the house where she was staying at with Professor McGonagall, hoping that he would come and get her. Shes didn't want to lose hope, she didn't want to believe that the only man she had really loved was dead. In front of that window, in the privacy of the night, she would weep while thinking back to the moments spent with him as the tears on her cheeks flowed as free as the rain rivulets on the glass. Several times Minerva had caught her crying, but she had never judged her. She usually stood silent, simply laying a lean hand on her shoulder as a gesture of comfort. It wasn't enough. Only once had the old witch dared to give voice to her thoughts, and it had happened the day when hope had completely abandoned her and pain had taken over her. The little rose given Severus had given her had stopped living and with a slight _puff_ it had vanished before her eyes. In that moment all the pain and despair inside her had exploded in an unprecedented crisis leaving her a wreck. She had collapsed to the ground in a puddle of anguish and tears, the emptiness in her soul a deep abyss. She kept hearing Severus' voice whispering in her ear to forgive him, and seeing his magnetic eyes sink into her. Minerva had appeared beside her immediately and had welcomed her protectively into her arms. When the hiccups had finally passed and her breathing was almost back normal, then the woman had caressed her head fondly and had spoken for the first time - her voice said and full of emotions.

"You are in love with him, don't you Hermione?”

"Is it so wrong, Professor?" the girl had replied looking her former Professor straight in the eye. "Is it so wrong to love a man who has tormented me for years but who eventually gave everything he had in order to see again the light that had disappeared from my eyes?"

"No, my dear, it isn't."

That night she had stayed awake watching the ceiling of her bedroom, lying in the middle of the bed above the blankets, holding in her fingers the small piece of paper left to her by Severus.

Then the months had passed, and the winter frost had given way to a light breeze full of rain. That night, like all nights, she was sitting in front of the window contemplating the nothingness and getting lost in the memories of her previous lives. The house was quiet, there was no one but her, and the only noises that could be heard were those of the wind blowing loud and undisturbed and the thin drizzle that fell thick around the house.

As she watched the night's nothingness, Hermione realized that in the distance there was a dark figure illuminated by the light of one of the lampposts on the sidewalk. She squinted her eyes as hard as possible trying to figure out who it was while a knot in her throat blocked her breath. A single name struck her heart and mind and in an instant she found herself running out of the house in the darkness of the night and under the rain. Her wet hair immediately glued to her forehead as the clothes she wore tightened to her slender body. It was cold outside, but she felt nothing but the desire to run towards that black hooded figure who watched her from afar. She walked uncertain towards him until she found herself almost in front of it. A male hand sprang from those heavy robes stretching towards her. His palm was facing upwards and Hermione observed, with eyes that immediately filled with tears, a red rose being born from it. Once again she could not breathe and she felt her heartbeat accelerate. She couldn't believe it... she didn't want to believe it. _Severus..._

When the hood was lowered and Severus Snape's edgy profile appeared under the light of the lamppost, Hermione gasped.

"Severus!" she exclaimed, her voice broken by tears, throwing herself into her strong arms that immediately enveloped her. His scent of musk and burned wood stroked her senses while an indescribable warmth heated her limbs. Severus wasn't dead, he was alive. And he was there with her at last. But why did he leave her alone all those months? Why hadn't he come back to her immediately? A scorching pain and anger suddenly exploded inside her, like a bomb that had long been waiting to be dropped. "Why did you leave? Why?" she asked, untangling from his body and hitting him in the chest. "I thought you were dead! Why did you leave me alone, Severus?”

The wizard observed her for a moment with his intense black eyes before calmly grabbing the young witch's wrists and stopping her assault.

"Why? Because the spell I used to activate the potion almost killed me and for a long time I had just barely the strength to stay alive... For you. Just for you, Hermione." Severus replied in a whisper. "As my body healed, I realized how much you had got under my skin, but I couldn't do anything."

"I was here!" Hermione nearly yelled. "I was here and I was waiting for you!"

"I had to make sure that our bond was not just the result of a... of what I did to you."

"Do you really think that my love for you is the result of a rape?"

"I promised you you'd be free once all of this was over."

"Don't you understand that I don't want freedom?" the almost hysterical witch asked, taking Severus' face in her hands. "I want you." To those whispered words, Severus closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

"I had asked you to forgive me."

"I'm ready to do it, if you in turn make me a promise."

"Which is?"

"That you will accept my love;" She told him and kissed him softly on the lips. "and the fact that the price I had to pay to ensure the end of Voldemort was but a small sacrifice in light of all this. I would do it a thousand more times Severus if that meant watching the sunrise with you."

"I promise." The wizard answered and slowly touched Hermione's sweet mouth with his and at that moment she felt complete again.

Their pain vanished.

Their fear just a distant memory.

Their love a rush of emotions straight to the heart.

  


  


**_Fin._ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello dear readers!
> 
> This story is now COMPLETE and I hope you have all enjoyed it! All I want was to write a love story, that's why I didn't spend too long writing about the demise of Voldemort...I didn't really care about it!
> 
> I'm an Italian girl who likes writing and this was my second attempt at translating something from my language into English so that's why there are mistakes. I hope you will forgive me for them!
> 
> I am now working on a very short story (one to three chapters, I'm not sure yet) written from the beginning in English so follow me for new stories :)
> 
> Thank a lot to all of you who have read, reviewed and enjoyed my story!
> 
> Disincanto294


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